The desperate men, who had been excavating the site, all stopped their work and looked up at the sudden arrival of the helicopter. They assumed it was an important military official, personally overseeing their progress. It was not an uncommon occurrence. Recently, a frightening rumor had been circulating: the ghosts of pharaohs haunted the Sahara, killing tomb robbers at random.
A man, clearly the leader, leisurely fastened his belt, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Behind him, in a makeshift tent, two naked slave women could be seen. This region was a war-torn land, a breeding ground for lawlessness, where militants captured homeless women and sold them on the black market. Of course, the superheroes, with their selective blindness, naturally ignored this festering cesspool of crime.
"Damn it, who is it?" the leader grumbled, his mood soured by the interruption. "They couldn't even make a satellite call beforehand. So rude."
Before the helicopter even landed, a tall, gaunt figure leaped from a height of dozens of meters. The leader frowned. Such a high fall, even onto sand, could easily result in broken bones. Who was this reckless daredevil? Then, his eyes widened in terror. The gaunt figure was approaching with unnatural speed, like a phantom. The leader fumbled for his pistol and fired, for the newcomer looked like a freshly unearthed mummy.
ROAR!
The bullets were useless against Drake. With a flash of fangs, he sank them into the leader's neck. Gulp, gulp… He greedily drank the long-awaited taste of fresh blood. As he fed, his body began to regenerate at a terrifying rate. His withered form filled out, and his sparse hair grew thick and lustrous.
Tossing the now-empty husk aside, Drake was still not satisfied. After a thousand years of imprisonment, he was ravenous. He needed more blood to restore his power. His appearance had returned to normal, but his strength was far from its peak.
He turned his gaze to the excavation site. The tomb robbers stood frozen in terror, their tools in hand, having forgotten to flee.
With a burst of newfound speed, Drake, a blur of motion, descended upon them.
"The pharaoh has risen! Run!"
"Don't kill me! I have a family!"
"I'm innocent! The leader forced me to do it!"
The criminals' pleas were pathetically weak. They were not just tomb robbers; they were traitors, butchers who would not hesitate to slaughter civilians. They deserved no sympathy.
Nick, hidden beneath the sand, witnessed it all, but chose to remain silent. As a former Navy SEAL, he was accustomed to bloodshed. He had no room for sentimentality, only the mission given to him by Set.
Just then, he felt a weight on his back, followed by a voice.
"This is a good spot. Let's see who can pee the longest."
As he spoke, Alan shifted his weight, indicating, "Aim here. Whoever misses, loses."
"Can we do something else? I really need to take a number two," Cobblepot whispered. Edward and Cobblepot were completely at Alan's mercy. They were mere mortals; if they didn't humor the madman, they'd be lucky to escape with just a beating.
"After we've peed a hole, you can go," Alan said, drawing a circle in the sand with his toe. Nick, still hidden, felt a sense of dread. The circle was right over his backside.
"Stop!" He leaped to his feet, his cover blown.
Nick looked at the strangely dressed trio and the shark-man, his eyes filled with bewilderment. The Joker, Arthur, was still unconscious in the helicopter, weak from blood loss.
"Tom Cruise! I loved you in Mission: Impossible 8: Night Attack of the Eight-Foot Lady," Alan said with a lecherous grin. "The plot was a bit bland, the acting was mediocre, but it was really out there. A two-meter-tall lady! I was so engrossed, I started going at it with both hands, and you'll never guess what happened."
"What happened?" Nick asked, against his better judgment.
"I skinned it."
"…"
Regaining his composure, Nick frowned. "Who are you? What do you want?" He knew they had already spotted him and were just toying with him.
"Don't you want to know how to break free from Set's control?" Alan said with a smile.
"I do. Can you tell me?" Of course, Set, one of the nine great gods of Egypt, was not a kind and gentle deity. Unlike Khonshu, he didn't negotiate. If you disobeyed, you would experience death. And in the movies, Nick had been desperately searching for a way to break free.
"I don't know," Alan said frankly. "When I transmigrated, the second Mummy movie hadn't been made yet."
Then why did you bring it up?
"But," Alan added, his tone shifting, "if you help me just once, I can connect you with some professionals."
"Professionals?" Nick was skeptical. This man was clearly unstable.
"For example, Constantine, who dares to challenge both demons and Death. The Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One, who resides in Kamar-Taj. Or Thor of Asgard, the God of Hammer(Thunder). They will surely have a way to help you."
The three Alan mentioned were indeed capable. Constantine was hated by both Heaven and Hell. He had outsmarted Trigon more than once; dealing with a minor old god would be a piece of cake. The Ancient One was on par with Odin; if she couldn't solve a problem, she would solve the god causing it. As for Thor, he would probably just smash Set with his hammer until he saw reason.
"You can really help me?" Nick asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He hated being an emissary. He would rather be retired, living a quiet life, not constantly covered in sand.
"I can't guarantee the others, but I have some connection with the Ancient One. At the very least, I have connections in both the Justice League and the Avengers." Alan knew Bruce and Diana in the Justice League, and Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Thor in the Avengers. They were either sworn brothers or family. Alan was, after all, Tony's uncle.
"First, tell me what you need. Then I'll decide if I'll help." Nick was no naive young man.
Alan explained the situation in Gotham.
"I'll help you," Nick agreed. "But if you dare to deceive me, don't expect any mercy."
At that moment, Drake finished his meal, wiping the blood from his mouth. The aura around him was terrifying. Edward and Cobblepot couldn't even look at him. Alan, however, was unfazed. He had faced the god of war, Ares; a variant vampire was nothing.
"Next target: Ocean Master, Orm."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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